  Monstrum horrendum, informe, ingens. OLD Cormoran of Michael’s mount By all his teeth he swore, That he would eat more butcher’s meat, Than a whole host from Cornwall’s coast Of ten or fifteen score. In Arthur’s reign this Giant lived; A Giant huge was he: His name was known in every town, From Devon’s border to Land’s-end, And eke from sea to sea. Six fingers on each hand he bore, Six toes upon each foot: An ox’s hide his glove supplied; And three times ten stout Cornish men And while he bathed his monstrous legs, And straddled in the seas, The bravest ship of Arthur’s fleet Might sail between his knees. His breath was like a gale of wind As now-a-days it blows: His sneeze was like a hurricane; And leagues around was heard the sound When he did blow his nose. His laugh was like a thunderclap If e’er in jest he spoke; And the waves that lay in Michael’s bay Shook, like a merry company, Responsive to his joke. Thrice every day he gorged his fill, And thrice he drank as well: One herd at least of salted swine, One hundred fatted beeves in brine, And eke a thousand casks of wine, On every sabbath day at morn, While Church-bells toll’d for prayer, He took his club and took his horn, And took his belt with iron welt, And through the sea did fare. Then foraging the country round He pillaged every farm; And hogs and sheep and oxen too Were fell’d by his strong arm: And then he bound them in his belt, And round his waist huge loads did pack, And swung the rest across his back, And sought his isle again: And not a man of all who dwelt Or high or low within that shire, Or peasant, parson or esquire, But dreaded Cormoran. The very magistrates themselves, Who once a fortnight did dispense King Arthur’s justice at Penzance, Despite of justice and of law And tho’ they lived in rusty pride, Nor took their country’s pay, He spared them not for that a jot, But used to say the balance lay Upon the country’s side. In sooth it was a grievous sight, And sad it is to tell, When Cormoran came o’er the sea, What fearful things befel: He had no shame of his ill name, No sneaking thief was born; But standing stiff on the main cliff Nine times he wound his horn. Oh then I ween you might have seen All nature in despair! The bird soar’d high toward the sky, The wild beast sought his lair. The sheep ran huddling to a nook, As they had seen a wolf: The snorting colt defied the brook, The lazy-grouping steers, that grazed Upon the mountain fell, Forgot their pasture all amazed, And pour’d into the dell. The pigs that buried in the straw Lay grunting snug and warm, Now helter-skelter scurried off, As if they smelt a storm. The watch-dog tore against his chain, As he would choke with rage: But when he listen’d once agen, He knew the voice of Cormoran, And skulk’d into his den. From every steeple on the coast, And eke from every tower, The village bells right merrily Did chime the matins-hour; But when they heard th’ accursed blast, Each sturdy sexton stood aghast; The rope it glided from his grasp, Save here and there where sudden jerk Had follow’d interrupted work, Like dying man’s convulsive gasp, There came a jangling sound. The lads and lasses, who that morn Had donn’d their high-day trim, Were pacing solemnly to prayer, In modest guise and prim. Apart they walk’d in decent pride, And scarcely ventured side by side: But hark! it was—it was— ’Twas Cormoran! they knew the sound That paralysed the country round, And hurried off in mass. Forgetful now of prayer and pride In groups they thrid the forest wide, Or lurk in caves together: And here and there a plighted pair Wander aloof in mute despair, Or crouch upon the heather. decoration PART II.Ingentes animos angusto in pectore. IN Cornwall then there lived a youth, (Such may that land ne’er lack) His mother call’d him “Johnny dear,” His father call’d him Jack. In sooth he was of gentle mien, And of a nature kind: And though his body it was small, It held a mighty mind. For he had read of fairy tales, And deeds of high emprize; And envied knights who died in fights, Or lived in ladies’ eyes. And not a wrestling match there was, But Jack would try his skill; And not a fair but Jack was there And while he sat upon some rock, And watch’d his sheep by day, His eyes were with his silly flock, His soul was far away. Sometimes he went to beard intent A Giant in his den; Sometimes he thought he singly fought With twice two hundred men: And when he found himself aground, Not caring to be slain He sprang afoot, and off he shot Till he might breathe again. Now Jack while he sat thoughtfully One glorious sabbath morn, It so befel, as I did tell, That Cormoran wound his horn. The ewes were browsing o’er the downs, And scatter’d far away; The lusty lambs had drain’d their dams, Now all did prick their ears right quick Astounded at the blast; As if a kite had soar’d in sight, Or fox had skulken past. And then they scour’d about the lay, And piteously did bleat, Till in the throng that rush’d along Each one its own might meet. Cried Jack—It is a shame, I wis, A burning shame to see This Cormoran, a single man, Defy the whole countrie! What! tho’ no hand on Cornish land Can wield the giant’s axe: One heart there is as stout as his, And that one heart is Jack’s. And, if I know a trick or two May serve me in good stead, This very night my mark I’ll write That day pass’d by most tediously, And Jack the hours did count, Till night came on and he was gone Alone to Michael’s mount. His horn was at his collar hung, His hatchet in his hand; Adown his side his spade was tied; A pickaxe at his back was slung; And thus he left the land. Across the bay he held his way, And swam with all his might; It was so dark he scarce could mark The mountain’s frowning height. But soon he gain’d the rocky land, And dripping from the wave He peer’d around, till he had found The hateful giant’s cave. There right afore the giant’s door He dug a huge big hole; Full deep and wide on every side With muchel toil he moved the soil; And then, to hide his tricks, Above the cavern’s gaping mouth He wove a frame of sticks. A frame of sticks just strong enough To bear the living sward; Which he so laid o’er as it was before, Not a trace of the hole appear’d. Then pickaxe, spade, and hatchet too Upon the ground he cast: And he took his horn to salute the morn And blew a jolly blast. Now how he danced, and how he pranced, To think what he had done! But when he heard what then he heard, He well nigh burst for fun. “Holloa—Yaugh! Holloa—Yaugh! Who dares wake Cormoran? As I am good, by my father’s blood, Then he rubb’d his eyes and drove to rise, But woke so tardily, That while he yawn’d the morning dawn’d, And Jack bethought to flee. But while yet slumber his lids did cumber He blew another blast; And the giant rush’d out and blink’d about, Till Jack he spied at last. What whipster is that scarce as tall as a cat? He’ll do to broil or bake: But he’s too small for me withal This long night’s fast to break. Tis Jack, I swear! ah Jack, mon cher, This is a merry bout! I’ll pay your score—and all before Your mother knows you’re out. So on he strode: but soon he trod Aboon Jack’s handywork; When in he fell, and roll’d pell-mell Then Jack peep’d in, and rubb’d his chin, While thus he spake his foe:— Now, as you’re good, by your father’s blood, Dear giant, swear not so. Why thus perplex’d and sorely vex’d, Kind heart! for me and mine? My mother knows I’m out;—but does Your father know you’re in? At Jack’s keen wit the giant bit His flesh with grief and pain: Then with mock glee—Bravo! cried he: Now help me out again. Jack quick replied: on either side With both your hands hold tight: While I take care to seize your hair, And pull with all my might. The Giant did as he was bid; When Jack his humour spoke: For though so brave and seeming grave “Stay, stay: the air is cold up here, And you are delicate: It sure were best to breakfast first; I well can spare to wait. But broil not me, who am you see Scarce taller than a cat: Not half enough, besides I’m tough; Do pray instead take—that:”— Whereat a thump he dealt so plump, Upon the Giant’s head, That down he roll’d upon the mould, And there he lay like dead. Then Jack jump’d down and kneeling on Him pull’d his clasp-knife out; And here he gash’d, and there he slash’d, As one would crimp a trout. Now such a flood of giant’s blood Came rushing from each wound, Jack well had need to off with speed, Then up he sprang, and, like a cock That dead hath struck his foe, He stood aloof upon a rock, And thus began to crow. The deed is done! the game is won! Great Cormoran is slain! Now frisk and leap, my pretty sheep, All merrily again. The deed is done! the game is won! Right glorious Jack will be: All Cornwall’s coast his fame shall boast For this great victory! But who can know who struck the blow, Since none were here to see? What boots to Jack if he go back Without some true trophee? For men in sooth are wondrous loth To spend a word of praise: Though great and small are prodigal But off to bear the Giant’s gear Jack was too weak of limb: He scarce could stand the weight on land; Then how with it to swim? Wherefor he felt beneath his belt; Perchance he there mote wear A signet, or some love-token, Or lock of lady’s hair. For who so fierce, but love may pierce His breast, to all unknown? What heart so sere, but springs a tear In secret and alone? But Cormoran was not the man To rue his lonely couch: Nor pledge nor plight of lady bright Was there within his pouch. There lay alone a steer’s thigh-bone, Sharp pointed, huge, and thick; Wherewith he used (for tell’t I must) Now this took Jack, and on his back He slung the ugly spoil: And thus again he swam the main, Sore sick of blood and toil. The morn was bright, the breeze was light, Jack stemm’d the wave meanwhile: And all Penzance came forth to see Who left the Giant’s isle. They mark’d him ride the buoyant tide, As one of stubborn mind; And how he cleft his way and left A blood-red track behind.— Now Jack once more on Cornwall’s shore Unslung his huge trophee: And all flock’d round, and mark’d with stound What this strange thing mote be. So thick! so long! so sharp! so strong! They saw the truth full quick: For who but he its lord could be? And who could seize that pocket-piece, Nor pay for’t with his head? And who e’er felt beneath that belt? It must be he was dead! Then did they shout with joyous rout, And Jack bore off amain: Right up Penzance they led their dance, Then led it down again. It chanced that morn the Ealdorman Sat there in civic state; On matters high of polity For to deliberate. So when this noise of men and boys Resounded through the street, He felt the weight of high estate And trembled in his seat. But soon a scout who had peep’d out These welcome tidings told:— “They bring a lad—some thief, or pad!” For though he had no heart to beard A burglar stout and tall, He yet was glad to trounce a lad, Because he was so small. But threats soon turn to promises, And punishment to praise, When Jack walks in and on the board The giant’s tooth-pick lays! The Ealdorman is all astound, And scarce his eyes believes; For ’twas long syne that he did dine Upon his own fat beeves. As fitting meed for such brave deed, He fain would wealth bestow: But money there was then as rare As now-a-days, I trow. But honour shone more bright than coin Before Jack’s noble eyes: Awake—asleep—he still might keep The Ealdorman then rising up, While Jack before him knelt, In Arthur’s name he dubb’d him knight, And girt him with a belt. The belt it was of good leather, With letters stamp’d of gold; And all the world might read thereon This simple history told:— This is the valiant Cornish man Who slew the giant Cormoran! decoration
|
|
